


Serendipity

by maaaaa



Series: Puffer Bellies [8]
Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Summary: Jim and Blair deal with day-to-day life after Blair suffers a brain injury.
Series: Puffer Bellies [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695412
Kudos: 15





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> My “Puffer Bellies” series was written between September 2007 and July 2009. It is a WIP that was never quite finished. The stories stand pretty well on their own, but should be read in order.

With the palm of his left hand settled reassuringly between Blair's shoulder blades, Jim ushered him into the waiting room of the Cascade Community Health Center. It was a spacious room, painted in warm colors, softly lit, and divvied up into small groupings of chairs and couches. Jim quickly scanned the area, and steered Blair toward the least crowded part. He pointed to a row of empty chairs and prodded Blair toward them.

“Take a seat, Chief, I'll get you registered,” Jim directed.

Blair gave the room a measured once-over of his own, while worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and idly sliding a hand up and down the strap of his backpack. He stole a quick look at Jim before he shrugged half-heartedly, trudged to the chairs, dumped his backpack on the floor, and did as he was told. Jim waited until Blair was seated and settled. This entailed Blair re-positioning himself a few times, and finally wiggling into a bent-pretzel position he was fond of, and which Jim couldn't fathom could possibly be comfortable.

Then Jim headed to the reception counter.

There were a couple of people ahead of him in line, so it took a few minutes for Jim to get the necessary paperwork, fill it out, turn it back in, and ask how long the wait would be. Learning that Dan was running a little behind schedule, he stopped to peruse the magazine rack. He wasn't really hopeful there'd be anything other than the run-of-the-mill, outdated news and women’s periodicals to choose from. So when he found a current issue of Field and Stream, he snatched it triumphantly, picked out a fairly recent National Geographic, and joined Blair. He tossed the Nat Geo in Blair's lap.

Blair mumbled, “Thanks,” and started flipping the pages without really looking at them.

Jim was just getting into an interesting fly-fishing article when Blair started getting antsy.

“Why're we sitting here?” Blair asked, clearly as a complaint. His right leg had started jiggling. He was wedged cross-legged in his chair, and his knee bumped against Jim's leg in an irritating manner.

Jim closed his magazine, bookmarking his place with a thumb, and turned to answer Blair.

Blair was staring across the room, his eyes darting around anxiously. There was a large aquarium taking up most of one wall at the far end of the room. And a television tuned to Cartoon Network. There were two sets of shelves piled with storybooks as well as puzzle and game boxes. More books were strewn across several low tables, along with crayons and coloring books, partially completed puzzles, and various other toys. There were about a half dozen kids, the oldest maybe ten or eleven, tearing the area apart. And there was one young teenager, off in a corner by himself, appearing quite detached from everything.

“What's wrong with here?” Jim asked defensively as he compared where they were sitting with the other end of the room. He reflexively turned his hearing down a bit in response to what suddenly became a loud volume of kids' voices.

“Have you ever noticed that even in a waiting room there's a definite social structure in play?” Blair asked in a purely academic tone, wrenching Jim's attention squarely back in his direction. He gave Jim an old-Blair look, with a twinkly spark of sudden anthro-interest flashing in his eyes.

The question, sailing in from out of the blue, along with that look, sent a jolt through Jim. Just like these moments always did. But, as usual, he didn't let it show.

“How's that, Chief?” he asked casually.

And just like that, the spark was gone.

“I'm gonna go look at the fish, Jim, and see what kind of games 'n stuff are over there,” Blair decreed, standing up. The magazine slid from his lap to the floor, unnoticed. The observation of a moment earlier was gone, evaporated. He lifted his chin and nodded toward the other end of the room, as if daring Jim to tell him no. “You picked the boring-est spot,” he griped, giving the mostly empty area where they were sitting a distasteful, pitying look. “The boring-est spot in the whole entire building,” he added peevishly half under his breath.

“Go ahead,” Jim chuckled. He flapped his free hand in a shooing motion. “I'm staying put. Boring is just fine with me.”

All Blair needed to hear was go ahead, and he was across the room, gawking at the fish as if he'd never seen an aquarium before. There'd been a time, Jim noted with a regretful pang, that Blair would've left him to flirt with one or two of the receptionists, or chat up some of the other adults, not admire fish.

Jim checked the clock on the wall, then bent down and picked up Blair's discarded magazine. He tossed it onto the nearest table and went back to reading his magazine.

A few minutes later he picked up on Blair's voice, low and soothing, guide-like, a tone that always elicited his undivided attention. He caught just the tail end of whatever Blair'd been saying.

“--- it's too hot for my lucky hat.”

Jim ignored the article he seemed fated not to finish. He looked across the room, but Blair wasn’t at the fish tank. He followed the trail of Blair’s voice, and zeroed in on his Jags cap, which was still perched firmly on Blair's head.

Blair was now sitting next to the teenage boy who Jim had noticed earlier. The boy looked at Blair with an apprehensive scowl and then responded in a voice so low and shaky Jim had to ratchet his hearing up a couple notches to catch it.

“The Jags are cool.” The words were spoken in barely more than a whisper.

“I’m Blair,” Blair said cheerily and gave the kid one of his easy-going smiles.

The boy gave Blair another unsure look and then somewhat hesitantly said, “Matt.”

There wasn’t really any more conversation between the two of them after that, just a few disconnected bits of trivia from Blair about the Jags that didn’t seem to interest Matt at all; so they ended up just sitting there quietly. Of course, with Blair, quiet was a relative term. To Jim, he still seemed to exude fidgety noisiness.

At that point Jim would’ve gone back to reading if another occupant of the room hadn’t caught his attention.

A burly man, built like a linebacker, was roosted on the edge of his seat near the periphery of the play area. He was watching Blair and Matt intently.

It could’ve been sentinel vigilance or cop instinct…six of one, half dozen of the other…but Jim went on instant alert. The place was swarming with nutcases after all, Jim thought uncharitably. And the guy looked like he could be a few bricks short of a load in Jim’s estimation. The cop part of his brain did a quick shuffle through the store of criminals that could be possible match ups, and came up empty. The sentinel part took note of the guy’s barely restrained agitation.

Jim threw the magazine down on the table on top of Blair’s magazine with a loud thwap. He grabbed Blair’s backpack, walked across the room, and stood rigidly next to the man.

“I’m Detective Ellison, with the Cascade PD. Mind telling me why you’re staring at my partner?” Jim asked bluntly.

Jim had his badge flipped open when the man looked up at him. The man looked surprised, then angry. His response caught Jim off guard.

“What the hell do the cops want with my son?” he challenged in gravelly voice.

Jim put his badge away, and relaxed his stance. “Your son? Sorry. I’m sorry,” Jim backpedaled, looking from the man to Matt and back again. The resemblance was there, but it was faint. “My partner, Blair, he’s not a cop. He is, was, a civilian consultant with the department. I get edgy sometimes; comes with the territory.”

The man eased off too, nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that, detective.”

“Jim,” Jim amended, offering the man his hand.

The man gave him a quick, discerning look and then reciprocated, “Frank.” His hand nearly engulfed Jim’s and his handshake was vigorous but not unfriendly.

Jim let the backpack slide to the floor and took a seat next to Frank.

They both went back to watching Blair and Matt. Frank rubbed the palms of his hands nervously across his thighs. For a second, he looked as if he would break down in tears. Then he collected himself and said, “Matt hasn’t said a word in three years, not since he and his mom were in a car accident. Matt ended up without a scratch. But his mom---,” Frank hitched a deep breath, the next words momentarily choked off. He cleared his throat and then went on. “It wasn’t pretty. They had to pry him out from under her.” He gulped heavily and gave Jim a piercing look. “Not one single word since that day. But I swear he talked to your partner. Blair is it? He talked to him. One minute Blair was making eyes at the fish.” He stopped and chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. “I mean he was making googly eyes at the fish, and I was thinking what a goofy bastard, you know?”

Jim chuckled too, wishing he’d seen that face, and reflected on his own snap judgment of Frank.

And then Frank got serious again. “But the next thing I know, he’s over by Matt, talking to him like they were long lost buddies or something, and before I could move to go over and tell him to take a hike? I couldn’t hear what Matt said, but I saw it.” He paused a second and then said, low and emphatically, “I saw it. Matt said something to your partner.”

Five words. Five words in three years. And Blair had coaxed them out of the kid. They hadn’t been anything earth-shattering, not to Jim, but he couldn’t even imagine what it would mean to Frank to have heard them.

“Blair does have a way with people,” Jim offered in explanation, not sure what else to say, knowing he couldn’t tell Frank what he’d heard.

“I bet it was that cap,” Frank said with a laugh. “Silly, huh? But Matt does love the Jags. And that’s what Blair started talking about the minute he sat down. Just launched into how his mule-headed friend wouldn’t let him wear the hat he wanted to.” Frank laughed again, giving Jim an apologetic grin as he realized who Blair had been referring to.

Now Jim wished he had been listening in sooner instead of trying to read, wondering what other gems Blair had spouted. His musing was interrupted by hearing Blair asking a point-blank, tactless question.

“So, Matt, why’re you here?”

Frank bristled slightly, no doubt in fatherly defense.

Jim started to get up, figuring to step in and tell Blair to mind his own business. But Frank stopped him with a hand to Jim’s forearm. “No, it’s okay,” he said, sounding a bit unsure, his hand trembling.

Jim sat back, and both men watched and waited.

After a moment’s silence, Matt shrugged non-committedly but responded with a question of his own, “You?”

Both Jim and Frank heard the one word, clear as a bell. Frank let out a shuddered breath, tears welled up in his eyes, and he smiled. Jim clapped him soundly on the shoulder and gave an encouraging squeeze.

Blair didn’t seem to mind the question. He pulled the Jags cap off, leaned over, parted his hair, and showed off the ragged scar creasing his scalp. He twisted sideways to gauge Matt’s reaction, which was one of wide-eyed awe.

Jim could have seen the scar easily, but he didn’t look. He didn’t need to; he knew every inch of it, knew exactly what it looked like.

“I know, huh?” Blair continued easily, with youthful boastfulness, in response to Matt’s stare. “I got shot, sorta. Grazed really. And knocked out. Scrambled my brains pretty good.”

Jim winced at hearing Blair's casual tone. The way he reduced the trauma he'd suffered to a few offhand remarks left him with a hollow, queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Geez, Jim, that’s rough,” Frank said softly. Jim knew Frank couldn’t see the scar, but he’d surely heard Blair’s description. Jim was grateful for the show of support. All he could do was nod in agreement.

The receptionist called Blair’s name then, summoning him to his appointment with Dan McKenna.

Blair sprang to his feet. He said, “So long, good luck,” to Matt, who did nothing more than tilt his head in response. Blair joined Jim, giving him a quizzical look after glancing over to where Jim had been sitting earlier. Then he gave Jim a dismissive, so-what-I-guess look, snatched his backpack, and followed the receptionist.

Jim and Frank shook hands again and also wished each other good luck. As Jim followed Blair through the door out of the waiting room he looked back. Matt had taken up the seat Jim had vacated. Frank had a big, strong arm wrapped around his son. He was talking to Matt gently, asking about Blair, telling him he loved him, assuring him that he was there for him, letting him know he had all the time in world if that’s what it took before Matt was ready to talk to him.

Jim smiled as he heard Matt whisper, “Thanks, Dad.”

~0~

Jim was relegated to another waiting room while Blair went in for his tests and assessments. He silently cursed himself for leaving his magazine behind. This room had only bland medical pamphlets and hotline brochures to choose from.

He listened in just long enough to hear Blair fumble in his backpack, yank out his diplomas, and hand them over to Dan with a smug sounding remark. And then he launched right in to the lucky hat explanation, so Jim tuned out. Let Dan deal with the Sandburg Express for a spell.

Besides, he didn’t want to chance a zone by concentrating on the one sense. And more importantly, he felt it wouldn’t be fair to Blair for him to monitor what was going on.

Dan’s assistant saved the day by offering Jim coffee and, upon Jim’s response to her question if he needed anything else, retrieved his magazine.

By the time Dan invited Jim into his office a little over an hour later, Jim had all sorts of great tips to try out on their next fishing trip. Tips he was sure Simon would appreciate too.

Jim took a chair next to Blair in front of Dan’s desk and Dan started to go over test results. It was a lot of clinical jargon, but the gist of it was Blair’s IQ test had shown improvement, mainly in terms of showing increased access to common knowledge and facts. His gross motor skills were coming along, but his fine motor skills and sequencing abilities still needed work. Nothing else had changed significantly.

“I know there’s differing schools of thought about IQ tests,” Dan explained. “But we don’t use a standard test anyway for cases like Blair. We use modified models, tailored to specific needs. As we’d projected, the test confirms that Blair’s level of intelligence wasn’t significantly impaired. But his means for putting that intelligence to the kind of use needed for daily interactions is lacking.”

Blair rocked back and forth in his chair, clearly restless. He looked tired and acted surly, kicking the desk lightly with his right foot.

“Calm down, buddy,” Jim advised. “This shouldn’t take too much longer, right Dan?”

Blair didn’t wait for Dan’s answer. He got up and started roaming around the room, repeatedly shooting irksome looks at Jim. Finally, with an air of total aggravation he blurted, “I’ve gotta go.”

“Why didn’t you just say so, Chief?” Jim responded calmly, suppressing the urge to grin. “Do you know where the restroom is?”

Blair nodded glumly, looking embarrassed.

“No big deal, Chief,” Jim reassured as he got up and playfully shoulder-bumped him toward the door. “Take your time.”

Once Blair left the room Dan said, “It’s just as well he left now, Jim. I wanted to talk to you alone about the rest of the assessment.”

Jim nodded and sat down again and gave Dan an exasperated look. “What am I missing?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the IQ result is good news,” Dan started out. “And we knew the fine motor skills would take time.”

“But?” Jim prompted when Dan didn’t go on immediately.

“But,” Dan repeated tellingly. “It’s not just IQ we need to look at with Blair. I’m sure if we had Blair’s scores from when he was ten or twelve, they’d be just as high. The difference is in how a youngster that age accesses his old memories and uses them to modify new input. Blair’s having problems retrieving the couple of decade’s worth of data he’s picked up since then. He’s used to having it at his fingertips, easily accessed. He needs to develop what we call self-cuing skills to speed up retrieval. And there are also little tricks he can use to keep the information longer in his short-term memory bank, where we work with it.

Dan let what he’d just said sink for a minute before continuing. “Have you ever met an extremely intelligent twelve year old? I’m sure Blair was one. The thing is, when you’re twelve---,”

“You usually don’t have the common sense of a fence post,” Jim filled in acerbically, with an apologetic grimace.

Dan smiled and gamely went on. “Well, I was going to say that kind of intelligence often comes with a lot of cockiness. It takes a while before life teaches us that knowledge has to be modified by practical experience. But Blair’s practical, day to day experiences are so frustrating for him right now he’s seeing his past knowledge as lost to him if it doesn’t come up instantaneously. I’ve been seeing some breaks like that; something current triggers old information.”

“Just in bits and pieces,” Jim remarked. “Like what happens when he starts talking in Anthro-speak out of nowhere, or spouts some random conversation we’ve had in the past?”

“Yes, like that,” Dan agreed. “The parts of his brain that retain memories of all his experiences are still there, but with gaps. The injury caused an interruption in the pathways in the side of the brain called the parietal lobe that lets all that information flow and back and forth as needed. And that’s a big impact.”

“Okay, yes, I’m following you,” Jim said, nodding thoughtfully.

“That same part of the brain is where we learn to sequence the movements used in activities of daily living,” Dan continued.

“So that explains why Blair needs help with seemingly simple things like cooking or learning directions?” Jim chimed in.

“Exactly,” Dan concurred. He shifted a bit in his chair, and rested his forearms on the desktop, clasping his hands loosely.

Jim steeled himself for more.

“Did the doctors explain the results of the MRI and PET scan taken after the injury?” Dan asked.

Jim thought back to those first couple days when everything was a blur. “Well, yeah, I’m sure they did, but to be honest a lot of it went over my head,” he stated candidly.

“That’s understandable, there was a lot going on,” Dan said kindly. “So, let me give you a brief summary. The MRI didn’t show major cell loss. But the PET scan showed reduced activity in various regions associated with his behavioral and cognitive changes. It’s the reduced activity in his temporal region, in the hippocampus, that accounts for the difficulty he has recalling specific words and retaining information long enough to use it. Consequently, the short-term memory deficits look like old information is forgotten because there’s no time for him to express it before it’s gone again.”

“Whew,” Jim commented in a low, blown-out breath, stopping Dan before he got too long-winded. “That’s a brief summary?” he quipped lightly.

Dan chuckled. “Sorry. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I want you to have a good grasp of what we’re dealing with.”

“How much of this, what you’re telling me, does Blair get?” Jim asked, turning serious once again.

“I haven’t discussed it with him in this kind of detail. I think we need to build up to that. We’re not dealing with an age regression type situation; you can see that. He knows he’s an adult. And that he’s suffered a traumatizing injury, but it might not be so easy for him to understand that in essence, the way his brain works now will separate him from the kinds of settings in which he employed his old skills and maybe even ones he regains.” Dan delivered this appraisal with professional calmness, but also with a note of genuine sympathy.

Jim sighed and rubbed his forehead. “But he’s smart enough to come to the conclusion, sooner or later, that it sucks.”

Dan didn’t disagree. He waited a few moments and when Jim didn’t add anything else, he went on.

“Jim, I want you to think about something. And please don’t take this the wrong way or that I’m suggesting a change here. I just want you to really think about what we’ve discussed today and what it could mean, long term---,”

Jim cut in with, “You mean me taking care of a super-smart but perpetually frustrated whiz kid?”

Dan wagged his head back and forth. “More or less, yes, but not in all respects. Mainly in the area of the continued help he’ll need in daily living skills and the loss of inhibition which could further erode his patience with treatment, and problems that turn out to be long term,” he replied lightly. “It could get to be a lot to take on.”

“What exactly are you getting at?” Jim challenged guardedly.

“There are other options you can consider,” Dan stated. “Group homes, assisted living---,”

Jim frowned at him, and didn’t care if he came across as menacing.

Dan held up his hands and said, “I’m not suggesting right now, or ever, if it’s not what you want, so don’t look at me like that. You just need to think about what could happen if the damage to Blair’s brain doesn’t improve, or you meet someone for instance. How would that person feel about it?”

Jim grinned and shook his head, the menacing scowl now gone.

With complete cool and sincerity he answered, “I can see your point, Dan. But Sandburg and I are partners, best friends. I can’t think of anything or anybody ever being more important than us staying together. He’s saved my life, more than once, in more ways than one. And I don’t mean I plan on taking care of him for the rest of his life out of a sense of obligation, or guilt, or anything like that. It’s just the way it is.”

Dan smiled in return and responded, “All right; I just had to throw it out there.” With a note of cautious optimism in his voice he added, “The first year of recovery will probably be the most challenging. But there’s often amazing changes that can take place as other parts of the brain take over for the damaged ones, in ways even the experts don’t really comprehend. We’ll keep working on the types of stimulation that will help, and ways to take the situations in which his old information surfaces and show him how to use those cues to call up the information himself at will.”

Jim heard footsteps coming down the hall and didn’t want Blair to catch any of this conversation.

“Understood,” Jim said curtly, just as Blair flung the door open.

“Can we go now?” Blair asked plaintively, glancing from Jim to Dan and back to Jim.

Dan gave the green light first. “Okay by me, what’s stopping you?” He gave Jim an evil smirk, tossing any possibility of a hold up in leaving squarely in Jim’s lap.

“Let’s go, Jim, come on,” Blair pleaded with just enough whine to imply he thought Jim was intentionally stalling for some reason.

“Thanks a lot,” Jim said dryly to Dan. Both men realized Blair had been down the hall long enough to have lost interest in the appointment and its results.

“I’ll see you next time. Keep up the good work, Blair,” Dan praised as Blair and Jim headed out. “You too, Jim,” he added with feeling. “Let me know if you need anything.”

~0~

For all the tizzy he’d been in to leave, once in the truck Blair became quiet and sulky once again. Jim was used to his mood swings, chalked this current one up to the morning’s tiring flurry of activities, and waited patiently for the tide to turn.

When it did, what Blair said threw him totally off balance.

“Thanks for not wanting to send me away, Jim,” Blair mumbled.

He was resolutely staring out the side window and it took Jim poking him in the ribs to get him to turn his head.

Jim’s brows were furrowed; he tried to sound stern but not upset or mad. “Were you eavesdropping on me and Dan?”

Blair lowered his eyes and shook his head.

Jim put on the truck’s blinker and pulled out of traffic a half block on, into a small park. After turning off the truck, he looked straight at Blair and demanded an answer.

“Why would you say that, Blair? What makes you think I’d send you away?”

Blair shrugged. He had his hands in his lap, fingers loosely twined, and started twiddling his thumbs.

Great, Jim thought, a new avoidance tactic.

“Blair, answer me. Why would you think that?” Jim’s tone brooked no tolerance for obfuscation or refusal to respond.

Blair shrugged again, but the thumb twiddling stopped. Still not looking up, he said, “Matt told me that’s what Dan meant when he said you had options.” He chanced a peek at Jim then. “Matt was eavesdropping, not me. He said they always send him out of the room when they want to talk about him and don’t want him to know what they’re saying.”

“Matt?” Jim questioned skeptically, clearly expecting more information. For a kid who hadn’t said anything for three years, Matt suddenly seemed pretty wordy.

“Yeah, he was out in the hall too, waiting for his dad,” Blair explained grudgingly.

Something still wasn’t adding up in Jim’s mind. Sure, he was paying attention to Dan and could easily have missed hearing two people just outside the door, but it seemed unlikely. And he had clearly heard Blair when he came stomping down the hall.

“Out with it, Chief,” Jim prompted gently.

Blair sighed. He still wasn’t willing to look Jim in the eye, but his answer was loud and clear. And once started, things came out in a flood.

“Matt’s like you, Jim. He can hear stuff he shouldn’t. And other the other stuff too, seeing and smelling, you know? I went and sat by him cuz it just felt like I should. I don’t know why. I didn’t know about his mom, until after, when we met again in the hall after our appointments. Shit, Jim, his mom died right on top of him. But the sentinel stuff, that was going on before that and he was scared to tell anyone, kinda like with you and your dad. And I don’t know why he talked to me and won’t talk to other people. And when we met again in the hall, after he was done with his therapist, which he says is a real waste of time cuz the guy is an asshole, not like Dan, he told me they always send you out so they can talk about you and that’s when he started listening to what Dan was saying and telling me.”

Blair took a deep breath then, and did look at Jim. And by his expression it was obvious he wasn’t sure what he was going to be in trouble for – the couple of foul words, the stuff about Matt, the eavesdropping by proxy – but it seemed he felt sure he was in trouble.

“You know what a sentinel is, Chief?” was Jim’s incredulous response. He didn’t care about the rest of it, not at the moment. And he wanted to wipe that worried look off Blair’s face in the worst way.

“You’re a sentinel, Jim,” Blair answered without hesitation and as if he was saying it to Jim for the first time. As if it was news to Jim.

And Jim held his breath.

“You have heightened senses. It’s a genetic pre-disposition, or so my theory goes. And we work together so I can help you with your senses and write my doctoral thesis on the phenomenon. And---,” and it was gone.

But it had been there. Jim started breathing again. He reached over, grabbed hold of the back of Blair’s neck, and squeezed. Then he patted Blair’s cheek softly before pulling his hand away.

“What I told Dan is the absolute truth, buddy,” Jim assured. “It’s you and me, good or bad. You’re stuck with me.”

Blair smiled, and the apprehensive look slid off his face. “I’m not in trouble?”

Jim shook his head. “Naw, we’re going to talk about all the things Dan and I discussed, sooner or later, it’s just not time yet.” He thought about Matt; wondered if he really was a sentinel. If so, it really didn’t surprise Jim in the least that Blair felt drawn to him. Jim hadn’t sensed anything about the kid to lend weight to Blair’s conclusion. He made a quick mental note to do a bit of discreet investigating to see if it was a real possibility. “You did a good thing with Matt, a real good thing. Not the eavesdropping so much, but that’s not the end of the world. I bet it was great for him to be able to let go and talk to someone. And you’re over twenty-one, so the language you choose is up to you. Did you think I was going to call you on shit and asshole?”

Blair blushed and laughed, nodding his head. And then he said, “I told Matt he needs to tell his dad, to make his dad believe him, about the whole weird hearing and stuff. His dad seemed like an okay guy, didn’t he Jim?”

“Yeah, Chief, he did,” Jim agreed. He took a look at where they were, sniffing the air as he did. “It’s a nice day, how about we get out and stretch our legs a bit? I think there’s a hot dog stand on the other side of this park.”

Jim unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the truck. When Blair came around the front of the truck and joined him, he whapped Jim on the chest with the Jags cap three times in rapid succession. Jim put a hand up to fend off the attack. Blair dodged Jim’s arm, quickly back-stepping away.

“Toldja,” Blair crowed in his most smart-alecky tone of voice. “Toldja it was a lucky hat.”

“No,” Jim corrected, easily closing the distance between them. He snatched the hat away from Blair and teased, “You said that butt-ugly Fargo hat was lucky.”

Blair’s mouth dropped open. By the look on his face Jim figured he must’ve just recalled that Jim’s version of their early morning tussle over the hat was the accurate one. Jim took advantage of the opening and pulled Blair into a headlock and softly noogie-d the top of his head. He had a fleeting moment of regret that Blair didn’t argue the point of who’d said what, as the old Blair might have.

Blair was laughing so hard by the time Jim let go, he was nearly out of breath. Jim thought the sound was a pretty good trade-off for argumentative Blair.

“Chief, do you know what serendipity is?” Jim asked when Blair caught his breath and they started walking.

“You mean like from the Persian fairy tale?” Blair answered, surprising Jim. But it was one of those momentary flukes of memory because Blair’s next words were, “Um, no, not really I guess. What’s it mean, Jim?”

“It’s life with you, buddy,” Jim told him with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look it up when we get home.”

As they followed their noses eagerly across the park, Jim reinforced his earlier reassurances by hugging Blair to his side and telling him over and over they’d be okay.


End file.
